


Heavy Is The Heart That Loves The Crown

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Crushes, Forgiveness, Goodbyes, I mean they prolly could have gone about it in an emotionally healthier way, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, Mentioned Glenn Fraldarius, Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Canon, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Puppy Love, Random & Short, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), Twitter: Dimivain Week 2020, but shrug emoji what can ya do, idk maybe it's a short fic, just for one chapter, slow burn?, will add stuff as I write who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22540330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: A variety of short stories about the King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the heir to House Gautier written for Dimivain Week 2020. Some cheerful, some somber, some...some things in between. ***Spoiler alert: I guess not much cheerful cuz I'm nothing if not consistent with my past habitsDay 1: Sun / Moon (combined with theThose Who Drabble In The Darkprompt 'Goodbyes')Day 2: Hands / MouthDay 3: Fairytale / TragedyDay 4: AUDay 5: Betrayal / DevotionDay 6: Past / FutureDay 7: Free-For-All
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 43
Kudos: 99





	1. Sun / Moon / Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Dimivain Week of this good year 2020! I'm excited to do this kind of thing; never have before.
> 
> Find me on Twitter or else at [NenalataWrites](https://twitter.com/NenalataWrites), comme d'habitude.

“Don’t worry about me!” Sylvain’s smile shone in the early winter sunlight. He hooked his thumbs in his belt; he was old enough to have a sword now, the elaborate thing tied loosely to his hip, but Dimitri had never seen him draw it. “Though winter’ll be less fun without you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri kept regal and somber even as Felix next to him let tears overflow and drip down his cheeks. “Your presence shall be missed,” Dimitri said haltingly, aware his voice was thick. Sylvain cackled in response. There was a tightness in his laugh Dimitri couldn’t quite identify.

“So stiff and formal! House Gautier will feel your absence as well, Your Royal Highness.”

“Mine, too!” Felix insisted, wiping his eyes.

Glenn took Felix’s hand, tugging him with gentle authority towards their carriage. “Come on, Felix,” he said.

“Miss us, too,” Felix called as he was dragged away. “Sylvain! Miss our presence, too!”

“Of course I will, buddy!” Sylvain kept that big smile plastered on his face while Fraldarius brothers remained in his and Dimitri’s sight.

When the carriage rolled away, he and Dimitri were left alone, smiling in silence.

“So,” Sylvain finally said, “Gustave’s taking you back? He’ll be the one to spirit you away from me?”

Dimitri nodded. Something odd lingered in Sylvain’s tone. Something that hadn’t quite made it past his relaxed, cheerful farewell.

“Too bad.” The sigh Sylvain let out sounded a thousand years old. Far too wise and dramatic for a boy not quite fifteen. “I was kinda hoping it’d be Kieran.”

A laugh startled out of Dimitri’s mouth. “ _Sir Kieran_? My father says Kieran’s so lazy, he would rather ride a steed than walk, save the steed would gallop faster than he could sit!”

Father had also made some follow-up joke no one had wanted to explain to him.

Sylvain, however, didn’t laugh with him. Dimitri couldn’t read his expression at all save for knowing that smile had wiped clear off his face. “I know,” Sylvain said slowly. “It’d make running away together way easier, right?”

Dimitri blinked. Tried to understand. Tried to listen.

Suddenly, Sylvain let out another breezy laugh, and said, “Nah, no worries. I’m kidding. Even Sir Kieran’d catch up eventually.”

Before Dimitri could ask him to elaborate, not to keep him from _another_ joke no one would want to explain, Sir Gustave clanked up to join them. “Your Highness,” he said in that solemn voice of his that brokered no argument.

Dimitri remained where he was. Hoping for something—some…clarification, some magical sense of understanding. But Sylvain only smirked, like ice cracking along a frozen pond. “Well, off you go,” he said with a too-low bow. Gustave turned around, satisfied, and the second he showed his back, Sylvain tapped his own cheek and said quietly, “Give us a kiss goodbye? Something to remember you by?”

Dimitri’s heart hammered in his chest. Before he could question what this feeling was, he darted forward, kissed Sylvain’s cheek, and skittered back to join Gustave. He got a frown for his tardiness but no more reprimand than that. “Goodbye—ah, see you next year,” he called.

The smirk had frozen on Sylvain’s face. “Yeah. Next year.” Dimitri could hardly hear him. Gustave walked so fast.

And tardy though he was, coming up behind the Gautier heir, Miklan moved fast, too. When he lifted his arm above Sylvain’s shoulder to wave his own farewell to the Crown Prince, it almost looked like Sylvain flinched. But the icy Gautier fog obscured much the farther down the road Dimitri and Gustave went. Eventually, there was no point in Dimitri looking back. The way behind them was darker than even a bright winter sun could break free.

It was a silly thought, one he didn’t think he should admit to anyone, but Dimitri hoped his kiss could keep Sylvain safe and warm in the winter to come.


	2. Hands / Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tired yesterday so I'll just post slooowly but! here is yesterday's prompt! maybe next time I will get to the 'cheer'

Dimitri came back from Duscur without a voice.

If he hadn’t trembled so hard in Sylvain’s arms when he grabbed him, held him to his chest like he could crush the grief between them, Sylvain might have wondered if what made Dimitri ‘Dimitri’ had come back from Duscur at all.

But Dimitri had survived. He’d come _back_. And Glenn had not.

Sylvain had no words of comfort, not for himself, not for Felix, not for Dimitri. Just tears and fear and bruises and wonderings no one could explain away.

Not that anyone tried. Dimitri, silent and emotionless, letting Sylvain hold him like he was less of a person to love him and more of a warm body to comfort him. Something Sylvain was becoming all-too-familiar with, sixteen years and furious at a world that had protected neither of them.

Sylvain pushed Dimitri away at the thought, revulsion clogging his throat more than tears, but Dimitri’s hand shot out quickly enough to make him flinch.

Lightly-callused fingers smoothed Sylvain’s tearstained skin. Now it was Sylvain’s turn to tremble, watching this blank-faced kid he’d grown up with and would die for wipe the tears from his eyes. Eyes which hadn’t seen what Dimitri had seen.

“Cry for us both,” Dimitri said, voice darkened in a tone no thirteen-year-old should know how to possess. “I cannot afford to be blinded by emotion should I wish to make this right.” The shaking fingers pressed hard now, and he continued, heedless of Sylvain’s wince, “I will find those responsible, Sylvain. For what they did to us. And I will make them _pay_. I swear it to you.”

Something dark like dried blood flashed through Dimitri’s eyes, and the shudder that wracked Sylvain’s frame could not have gone unnoticed. Dimitri released him with a harsh gasp, staggering back like he’d come to his senses.

“Dimitri!” Sylvain caught him before he fell, and Dimitri stumbled back into his arms. And finally, _finally_ burst into tears. “I have you,” he said, whispering the words into Dimitri’s hair. “I have you, I promise, I swear, I have you—”

Dimitri opened his mouth to reply—

 _For how long_?

No.

That was what Sylvain would have asked.

“I have you, too,” Dimitri swore into his tear-soaked shirt. “I’ll never let anyone—”

Sylvain hushed him. “I know,” he lied. He squeezed Dimitri again, tighter than maybe even a Blaiddyd could, like if he held _this_ Blaiddyd tightly enough, the rest of the world would leave them alone.


	3. Fairytale / Tragedy

These were things Dimitri liked about Sylvain:

His charm. The way he could gather crowds, command attention, make a whole room glow, make each and every person he spoke to feel wanted, needed, special, seen.

His laugh. How easily he did it, how frequently, how everything and anything could seem funny in the right light, how he could explain a joke Dimitri hadn’t gotten and tease him for it without being cruel.

His protection. That no matter what, he had everyone’s back, their friends’, their acquaintances, his strikes measured and aimed and strong, his shield quick to come up and quick to defend.

None of this had changed at the Officers Academy. If anything else, the traits Dimitri liked best had only amplified. Sylvain was more personality than person; everyone knew who he was, what he was or wasn’t up to, and who he was with and how.

These were things Dimitri did not like about Sylvain:

His love. The way he gave it so freely when it meant so little, made each and every person who once thought they could be different, they could be his world, instead feel insignificant, replacable, meaningless.

His smile. How easily he gave it, how frequently, how it could act as a catch-all for any and all problems of his own devising—and even problems not his own—despite its empty, flashy falseness. How it went hand in hand whenever he insisted he was telling Dimitri the truth.

His cruelty. That no matter what, he knew what everyone was and who they were not, and how best to hurt them. How quickly his shields went up, how precise he aimed his attacks, and how hard he wanted them to hit.

Dimitri was sure Sylvain was different at Garreg Mach. Like some malicious being had stolen away the Sylvain he’d loved from his not-so-long-ago childhood and replaced him with this man who wore the same face with a different set of expressions.

This Sylvain hurt people. Dimitri knew—thought— _knew_ he didn’t mean to. This Sylvain blew kisses and stole even more, laughing when whoever he’d last given his…affections turned their back, winked at someone else, and began the dance again.

Dimitri didn’t like this.

“Aw, loosen up, Your Highness,” Sylvain sighed, stretching for dramatic effect. The languorous gesture made him arch his spine, uniform rippling along his muscles, and Dimitri was struck with the image of what so many past lovers must have enjoyed moments before they realized they were now his _past_.

Dimitri frowned, kept his face stern. “I will not ‘ _loosen up_.’ You have more responsibilities than—”

Sylvain wasted no time cutting him off. “I know, I know. I’m full of responsibilities. Don’t you worry; haven’t forgotten a one.” He ruffled Dimitri’s hair before Dimitri thought to move out of the way. Sylvain’s grin was lopsided when he said, “ _Relaxed_ looks good on you. You look just how I remember like this, you know?”

Dimitri was never a _relaxed_ child, and Sylvain knew it. But Sylvain’s crooked smile was almost…real like this, something bordering affectionate. Dimitri’s heart clenched for one hopeful, unbalanced second, and…

“You’re all mussed-up.” The grin grew sensual, and Dimitri’s shudder came hard and hot. “I could get used to seeing you like this. Hair all wild like you just had a _night_ of your own. Give it a try sometime, huh? See how you like it.” Sylvain leaned in, and Dimitri sucked in a gasp. Sylvain’s eyes glinted like burnt sugar in the darkened reception hall candlelight. “Bet I can teach you how _I_ relax.”

Dimitri was not special. He took a deliberate, exaggerated step back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sylvain,” he said, tone brokering no room for argument.

Something unspoken and tense buzzed in the space between their bodies. Sylvain, still leaning in like a predator, Dimitri, still rigid and immobile as steel. When Sylvain exhaled another dramatic sigh, that _something_ shattered.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” but his easy drawl didn’t match the blankness in his eyes. “I’ll ease up, practice more, sleep more, sleep around less…Am I missing anything? _Your Highness_.”

Dimitri repressed another curious shudder for the way Sylvain’s voice stroked the air, beckoned him closer. It was easy when the line of his jaw was so tense, the smirk to his lips so cold, all so unlike the Sylvain Dimitri thought he still knew.

Well.

It wasn’t like _he_ was the same Dimitri Sylvain probably thought he knew.

“Well, is there?” Sylvain asked again when Dimitri didn’t answer fast enough. There was something curious, soft, and unreadable in the way he said the words, “Or are you letting me go?”

_Me._

_You’re missing me_.

Dimitri shook himself. “No. I think you’ve covered everything,” he said with as much authority as a prince could, not a seventeen-year-old to his twenty-year-old former best friend. “Good night, Sylvain.”

“Good night. Your Highness.”

Dimitri forced himself to turn around and leave first. Royalty was above such ideals as nostalgia. Fond memories, wishes for change were what monsters liked to prey upon.

These were things Dimitri loved about Sylvain:

“Dimitri.”

Dimitri stopped in his tracks.

“Dimitri, come on.”

Soft footsteps echoed behind him. Dimitri failed not to shiver when Sylvain’s hand came to rest on the small of his back. “We live right next door, remember? I’ll walk you home.” The smile Sylvain gave him as he pushed meaningfully until they started moving held enough warmth Dimitri almost felt safe. “I hear there are bad things about this time of night. Ghosts and monsters, wanting to eat up handsome young princes, whisk ‘em away to their underground kingdoms of _despair_.”

He elongated the vowels with a quaver, and Dimitri laughed, the sound breaking the strangeness between them. Sylvain didn’t remove his hand as they walked, and Dimitri didn’t tell him to.

Dimitri loved how Sylvain made him feel special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay fine maybe this is just me being sad for Dimivain all the time, leave me alone, I'll catch up to the prompts eventually


	4. AU: The Tragedy Never Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im three days behind so I'll just post everything at once lol sorry

"There he is!" Sylvain slammed Dimitri into a hug so hard he heard the prince's bones creak. No small surge of satisfaction zipped through his heart; the Crest of Blaiddyd was no match for sheer, unbridled joy. 

"It is good to see you as well, Sylvain."

Crown Prince Dimitri, bearer of said Crest of Blaiddyd, hugged back. And Sylvain's knees buckled.

As a mortified Dimitri released him alongside a flurry of apologies, Glenn cackled while Sylvain wheezed for air. "You've really come into your own, Highness," Glenn said. "The prince _I_ remember would have mumbled and blushed before he'd dare _touch_ this good-for-nothing."

Dimitri immediately mumbled and blushed, much to Glenn's delight. Sylvain's, too; there was something so precious about seeing Dimitri this flustered around him. 

"There he is," Sylvain repeated, but this time, the phrase came out more as a purr. "Blue Lions House'll have a _real_ treat for a leader this year, huh?"

"Sylvain, you really must stop teasing me," Dimitri huffed, straightening the hug out of his perfectly-ironed clothes. 

"Your Highness," an equally stiff but mildly accented voice said behind the three of them, and Sylvain turned to see who Dimitri was gracing with his beaming smile.

What was that...feeling suddenly stabbing through his gut?

The young man towering over them had the complexion of one from Duscur. As if it were not apparent enough, traditional jewelry peeked out of his uniform collar and dangled from his ear. The man bowed, arm crossed over his chest the wrong way. "The servants have finished with your things."

"Ah, how thoughtful," Dimitri said with another pleased smile. And another _jab_ through Sylvain's heart—what? "They've brought my trunk to my room, have they?" At the Duscur man's nod, the smile fell from his face. "I told you, Dedue. You don't need to be so formal with me. You're my friend."

"Apologies, Your Highness, but I am here as youth ambassador from Duscur. I must remain to my duty." Dedue rattled off the phrase. This was clearly a familiar conversation—and yes, Dimitri started to argue back. Sylvain tuned the lovers out.

"What's your problem?" Glenn muttered, nudging Sylvain's shoulder. He shrugged. He didn't have a problem. What problem? No problems. "Green's not a good color on you, huh?"

That startled a laugh out of him. "Green?"

"Jealousy."

Before Sylvain could come up with some snickering, deflective retort to combat the ice suddenly chilling his veins, another friendly slap on his back sent him reeling. "You go to see my brother before me?" Felix complained. He crossed his arms defensively before Sylvain could hook _his_ arm around Felix's shoulders and dig his knuckles into his scalp. "Some best friend _you_ are."

Sylvain grinned. "Oh, so we're best friends now? What happened to me being your husband?"

Felix's light scowl darkened, and Glenn howled with laughter. "I was eleven," he spat, like they'd all forgotten. "I just wanted—I was trying to _protect_ you—"

Sylvain waved off the sudden emotion welling up inside him at the memory of the arranged marriage to the woman twice his age that his parents had _almost_ fixed.

Honestly, he preferred the jealousy.

Or...some other word. Because Glenn was _wrong_.

Still. Sylvain glanced at Dimitri and Dedue, still engaged in their debate. Where Dedue seemed patient and almost long-suffering, Dimitri seemed... _energized_. Full of life such as Sylvain rarely saw these days.

He'd become so...princely.

"It's because he's a _prince_ ," Felix scoffed, and Sylvain jumped. Felix smirked. "Was that supposed to be an _inside thought_?"

"I don't have many of those," Sylvain tried to recover, but Glenn just shook his head. Twin Fraldarius smirks mocking a fear none of them knew he had. Not even Sylvain until two minutes ago.

"Watch yourself, Gautier," Glenn teased. "Maybe it'll be _your_ turn to get your heart broken for once. Experience the tragedy of Duscur stealing the one you _lo-ove_ right from under you—"

Sylvain recoiled, tried to play it off as a dramatic gasp. "The guy's right there, Glenn! And," he said, almost as a guilty afterthought, "don't talk about Duscur like that. They haven't done anything to _you_."

"I suppose," Glenn agreed, eyes drifting past Sylvain to watch the youthful prince and youth ambassador still jabbering away. Unlikely but fortunate conversation partners, not opponents on a battlefield. Then that stupid, classic Fraldarius _grin_ unfurled on Glenn's lips again, Felix hurrying to copy it even before the words spilled from Glenn's jerk mouth: "But maybe it'll do something to _you_."


	5. Betrayal / Devotion

Something rang false in Sylvain's laugh. A bite to his words when he added, "Yeah, and we _all_ know how it feels when the Crest of Blaiddyd gets out of control!"

"Sylvain," Ingrid hissed, and Sylvain shut up, the only remnant of his curiously hostile tone a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Dimitri would have dismissed Ingrid's scolding as, well, Ingrid's scolding did not even Felix sit rigid at the table.

"Is there a problem?" 

"Not a one." Sylvain didn't flinch, but Dimitri saw the table jostle due to an Ingrid-sized kick. "Please. Do go on, Your Majesty."

"Well," Dimitri cleared his throat and began anew. "Risking our armory's supplies aside, I feel it better to set funds aside for weapon acquisition and repair. Not only for me," he hastened to explain before Felix could object, "but for our high-ranking generals. Cornelia did indeed pillage the sharpest of the steel, didn't she?"

"Didn't help her much in the end," Felix snorted, leaning back in his chair too casually than maybe a Duke should. Casually, like a man who had never expected to be one, and certainly not so soon. Guilt twinged in Dimitri's chest. Felix leveled a glare at him. "Don't look at me like that."

Before Dimitri could reply, Sylvain cut him off. Cut off the _king_ —"Don't worry about His Majesty, Felix. Just a healthy dose of survivor's guilt. You know how it is."

 _You know how he is_ , went the unspoken thought. But Felix stiffened impossibly more. "I do," he said, venom dripping from each word. "Better than you."

 _Glenn's face, wide-mouthed in an eternal, soundless scream_. _Yet he could hear those pleas all the same, desperation, something that Dimitri could no longer promise_ —

"The two of you need to stop," Ingrid interrupted, far too late. Sylvain leaned back in his chair too, stretching and yawning too dramatically to be believed but just enough to get Felix jumping out of his chair, fumbling for his hilt.

"Leave," Dimitri said. Sylvain's cold smile didn't drop, nor did Felix's drawn sword. "I said _leave_. Your King dismisses you."

Sylvain got to his feet slower than was respectful. "Would never disappoint my liege," he winked, then strode out of the room. Felix hesitated only a moment before following almost at a run.

Ingrid's mouth flattened into a hard line. Before she could even cross her arms, maybe start berating him, too, Dimitri said, "Forgive me, Ingrid. But I must dismiss you, too."

"Your Majesty?" Her voice cracked with surprise. 

He bowed his head, more ashamed than he had cause. "I think I need to...reflect. On what happened."

Ingrid, unlike the other two, obeyed. Hurt painted the lines of her face, but she left him alone in the tactics chamber.

The silence stifled the room.

Dimitri ran back the last five minutes of conversation in his mind. They had gathered to assess the state of the royal armory, as the four of them were among the people who knew it best. Gustave— _Gilbert_ had requested leave to visit his family, and while it might not have been the most opportune time, Dimitri was loathe to deny the man such a thing when he had spent so long avoiding the past.

Cornelia's army had ransacked the place, commandeering whatever they deemed most useful and destroying whatever remained before the Kingdom army approached. Like they knew their defeat was inevitable.

So Ingrid had proposed restocking what they had lost, Dimitri had disagreed, since with a Blaiddyd reclaiming a battered throne, control still tenuous what with the walls darkened by sharper shadows than there once were...quality mattered more than quantity. 

And then Sylvain had made his joke about Dimitri always breaking toys and such as a child.

But Ingrid _and_ Felix had seemed...more angered than reasonable. And then Sylvain's caustic remark about _survivor's guilt_ —

Dimitri's single eye widened. He leapt out of his seat and hurried out the door, following the path his friends had taken. 

Like a beast stumbling blindly after scattered bait.

* * *

Dimitri didn't know why he'd gone to the royal family's chapel, nor did he know why Sylvain was there. But Dimitri had, and Sylvain was, and neither seemed surprised to see each other.

"Your Majesty," Sylvain dropped his clasped hands and turned from the altar to face him. "Services haven't begun yet."

"I know I've wronged you."

Sylvain didn't react. Not to the eyes of someone who didn't know him. No flicker of emotion passed over his face, no change of his posture.

But one eye was enough for Dimitri. Dimitri, who had watched Sylvain lie for what felt like his entire life.

And Sylvain knew it.

"You've wronged a lot of people. One more doesn't matter." That faint smile from earlier hadn't faded. "So have I."

 _Slaughtered them like rats. Ravaging bodies and making corpses like a plague upon the land. You monster, beast, demon, creature_ —

Dimitri quirked his lips to the side, forcing casualness. "You think I don't know this." It wasn't a question.

They stared each other down, some strange tension that hadn't been in the tactics chamber buzzing in the space between them. Sylvain broke first. Because Sylvain was not the King.

"I think you're focusing on a monster that never existed. Dimitri," Sylvain said before Dimitri could _ask_ , and he sounded a thousand years old. "You're a good guy. You've always been...too good. But you had one taste of what it was like to be a _monster_ , had one good lick, and...and pretended you liked what you felt." Something dark and unreadable flickered behind Sylvain's eyes. "But you don't. You don't know what it means to really be one. You just felt like one."

Sylvain took a deep breath, like he was going to say something else, but the first inkling of self-control Dimitri had ever seen in the man stopped him mid-inhale. Dimitri waited, testing him, but Sylvain had controlled himself. For once.

And the acidic words sank into Dimitri's skin like poison through the air. "Do you know how many people I've killed, Sylvain?" he asked him, voice soft in the chapel. Sylvain narrowed his eyes. "Because I see every single one of their faces. Everywhere I go. I see their final moments and remember _each day_ I was the one who created them. Who ended their lives."

Sylvain scoffed. The derisive sound echoed. But just as softly, he replied, "Do you know how many people I've killed, _Your Majesty_?" 

Sylvain's eyes glowed in the candelight. The glint of his teeth when he smiled, too.

"Because I don't."

Dimitri watched, listened to the deluge of accusing, confusing words spill from Sylvain's lips. "I killed them in your name. And I don't see a single fucking one of their _faces_. I don't hear their screams. I don't, what, feel their blood on my skin." 

With each cruel sentence, he walked one step closer. Dimitri could not move. He was King. He could not show weakness.

"You know how many people I've killed for you? _Dimitri_?" Sylvain barked a laugh. "I'll kill so many more. Whether I want to or not. And Goddess _hate_ me for it," he was right in front of him now, close as an assassin, "but I want to. Dimitri, I _want_ to. And I kind of hate you for that. _This_ is what a monster is." He grabbed Dimitri by the front of his cloak, brought his face even closer, and Dimitri could not remember a time when they'd been so near in height. A time where Dimitri was taller, even. "And you just played at it. You changed when you wanted to. When we _needed_ you to. And I'll never forgive you for the things you did when you didn't want to be you." Sylvain gripped Dimitri by the back of his head, tangling his fingers in Dimitri's hair. 

His heart—their hearts beat so loudly. Chest to chest. Dimitri's numbed hands trembled.

"I don't want to be me every single day," Sylvain said, mouth speaking inches from Dimitri's lips, his heart was _pounding_ , what could happen, what was _happening_ , "but I wake up a monster all the same. A monster—" he shoved Dimitri away, but his fingertips lingered for half a heartbeat on Dimitri's chest, "—who would die for a man who thinks apologies mean something only for the one who's done wrong."

Dimitri staggered back, further than Sylvain's push could explain. Sylvain watched him regain his footing, something disgustingly close to pity twisting his expression. "I need to be alone," he told the King. "It's my turn to dismiss you, if you don't mind. Your Majesty."

The mocking tone, so familiar from his childhood, his school days, those two words— _Your Highness, Your Majesty_ —said with such disrespect Dimitri had seen the Margrave Gautier box Sylvain's ears more than once.

But he never stopped.

Because it made Dimitri laugh.

And it made Dimitri leave.

The candles flickered as he passed, small bows to a King worthy only of the dimmest flames of respect.


	6. Past / Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sleepy all the time! but I'm honored y'all are enjoying this so much??? holy crap????????? anyway, it is almost done and they will be happier soon. thank you for your kind words!

"He's the king!" Felix yelled, wildly brandishing his toy sword to prove his point. "He's—he's the _prince_ , you hafta do what he says—"

Sylvain scoffed and crossed his arms. "He's not the king _yet_. I don't have to do _whatever_."

"He's right, Felix," Dimitri twisted his fingers, nervously biting his lower lip. "I'm still—"

"Sylvain doesn't know anything," Felix insisted, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. "Make pretend—make pretend that didn't happen, make—"

"Stop arguing," Ingrid argued. The other two little kids followed suit. Arguments galore.

Irritation blossomed in Sylvain's chest. _What babies_. Dimitri had wanted to use an entire tree branch as a toy lance. Ingrid and Felix, much excited by this prospect, had goaded him, making Dimitri's cute round cheeks glow red with pleasure.

The thing was, Sylvain had been _explicitly ordered_ to make sure the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus did not do anything stupid while His Royal Majesty King Lambert was at Castle Gautier. 

Sylvain, in short, was on babysitting duty. Which would have been fine, because in addition to being fun to tease, Dimitri was usually the tamest of the four of them, except…

Dimitri had looked so _happy_ when Felix and Ingrid had encouraged him. So pleased, so validated, like he was really worth something special, like maybe he could _force_ the Crest of Blaiddyd to manifest, yank a whole tree down by the roots simply because his friends _believed_ in him…

Miklan had pushed Sylvain down a well two days ago.

Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid had been playing together at the time. They hadn't heard his screams.

"No way, Dimitri," Sylvain had said flatly, grabbing Dimitri by the collar just as the boy had taken off running. "I'm not gonna take a beating just because that tree gives _you_ one."

Watching his friend's joy deflate had filled him with delicious revulsion for his own actions.

And now, watching his three closest friends squabble amongst themselves for pain _he_ had caused, Sylvain just felt exhausted. And cold in the spring air. And tired. And so…

"I'm gonna lie down, guys," he said to them over the din of their voices and the ringing in his ears.

"Sylvain!"

He wasn't sure who caught him as he sank to the frosted grass, but it was Dimitri's voice in his ear calling his name like a frantic plea for help.

"Sylvain, please just tell us what's wrong!"

* * *

"—each tariff could potentially—"

Sylvain would be the first to admit it.

"—whether or not Lord—"

The meeting was beyond dull.

"—you don't understand the _cost_ of—"

But shouldn't the King at least make an _effort_ to seem engaged?

Dimit—the King of Faerghus was spacing out. Staring out the window, nibbling off pieces of his fingernails. Expression blank under that shaggy mop of blond hair. 

They—Sylvain, Ingrid, and the Archbishop—had gotten him to start cutting it more regularly. But the stubborn locks remained steadfast in their attempts to hide that pensieve face Sylvain found harder and harder to read as time went on.

"—Your Majesty?"

"Beg pardon?" Dimitri asked, jolting in his seat. Sylvain flinched, too; he'd been staring at a covered mask of an expression too long to follow the conversation. The advisor who'd posed the question coughed delicately.

"I was only saying, ah—"

Dimitri mumbled something noncommittal. Before the boring talk about whatever could start up again, Dimitri said, "I have a headache coming on, I'm afraid. Perhaps you and I could continue this subject another time? Please accept my apologies."

"I—" That last sentence offered no room for arguments. The advisor drooped. "Of course, Your Majesty." Something vicious and delighted in Sylvain's chest purred. Oh, but how easily people could be cast aside. Even the King had learned that—

"Sylvain. Could you...stay? For a moment."

Sylvain, half out of his seat already, couldn't school his expression fast enough. "Uh, sure, Your High—Majesty." He swallowed, but Dimitri wasn't more forthcoming than that. He remained where he was in his throne, raking bitten fingernails back and forth in the grooves of the wooden table. "Whaddya need from me?" Sylvain ventured to ask.

"Need?" Dimitri huffed a pathetic laugh. "I _require_ nothing. I merely hoped…"

He trailed off. Before Sylvain could decide if he was annoyed or not at having his afternoon spoiled, he piped up once more. "Today is the millennial festival."

"Uh." It wasn't. That had been years ago. "You mean the...anniversary?"

"Yes. That...is more apt, is it not?" Rake, scratch, gouge. Back and forth. Sylvain watched Dimitri's nails scrape deeper into the table. Like picking at a scab. "Would you have killed me, had you found me there first?"

Sylvain sucked in a too-loud gasp. It came out as a hiss. _Subtle, Sylvain_. "What brought this on?" he tried asking, covering his stupid horror with a breezy tone.

Long blond hair didn't obscure Dimitri's sad half-smile. "You didn't answer my question."

Sylvain knew the stories. Had heard them well before the monster Dimitri proudly claimed to be stood before him covered in ichor and rage.

He knew what the Archbishop had told Felix. That they'd merely followed the trail of bodies, red with Imperial armor and Imperial blood. That they'd found Dimitri crouched in the Goddess Tower above those corpses, reveling in his hatred.

"I don't know." Sylvain chewed his lip, tried not to react when he heard Dimitri's pathetic little laugh. 

"You don't know. I thought as much." The terrible laugh was still present in Dimitri's voice when he sighed. He leaned back in his chair, closed his one eye, and basked in the sunlight streaming through the window like it could cleanse him of memories and sin.

The way it lit up the pale contours of his jaw, the glint of gold in his hair falling free of his face…

Maybe it did. Just a little. Not enough, but a _little_ , enough to stir up some fresh hope deep within Sylvain, a lonely part deep and dark like the bottom of a well—

"Do you think," Dimitri asked, eye still shut, "you could have forgiven me? If you'd been the one to find me. If you'd—"

"Stop it." Sylvain cut Dimitri off. Cut off the _King of Faerghus_. "You're here now. And...you're the King now, Dimitri. It's not my place to _forgive_."

The scraping nails halted. "I thought as much." Another half-smile, less sad but more.. _.something_ now. Something not entirely good. "You haven't changed, have you, Sylvain? Much as everyone wanted you to. I admire that."

Sylvain forced a laugh, stamping down on the hurt rising to clog his throat. Nothing could hurt him. No one could hurt him. "Always know how to give a compliment, huh?"

Dimitri opened his eye and frowned. Looked at him, really _looked_ at him. Sylvain recoiled like he'd been slapped. "You don't have to do _whatever_ , Sylvain. And if you don't—can't forgive me...I admire that."

_He was the King now._

_Sylvain didn't have to do everything he said._

Sylvain rose now and offered his King a bow. "You really never like the way I dress things up, huh? My girls, my words, myself…"

Dimitri's smile came fast now. "On the contrary."

Sylvain excused himself. Like he wasn't blushing. Like he hadn't left the King without permission. 

Like he hadn't been too afraid to ask his friend what was troubling him on so important, so memorable a day.


	7. Free-For-All: Restraint / Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your REALLY kind comments and responses! I genuinely thought like, the first 6 were gonna include some levity, buuuuut I forgot how my Strong Opinions On This Ship include, uh, a fair amount of sads. But! This is probably gonna make up for it! Maybe! I am always bad at gauging these things!
> 
> I hope to write some other Dimivain story in the future but have currently zero ideas, sooooooo enjoy this one, at least!
> 
> I'm [@NenalataWrites](https://twitter.com/NenalataWrites) on twitter if you wanna keep up-to-date on my writing and, uh, shitposts. Thank you!!

Dimitri would not seek Sylvain out.

It burned through his skin like the Ten Elites coursed through his blood. Nothing save a kind word, spoken in passing: "You've really come into your own, huh? Smart work, Your Majesty." Praise for a fair judgment, a somber but honest sentence for some local criminal and victim of circumstance.

Sylvain's open praise was nothing more than thoughts made audible in the air. But still, they touched something in Dimitri's heart, his ears, his _body_ like something physical. Something his pulse could hammer through his veins: _Smart work. Smart work, Your Majesty. You've really come into your own._

_I waited for you._

_I believed in you._

_You've really come into your own, Dimitri_.

This wasn't...healthy, Ingrid might, _would_ say. Sylvain buttered up the best and worst of his heartbreaks with much the same language. Dimitri could want to feel different all he wanted, but Sylvain _wasn't_ different.

He admired that. He'd said so. Dimitri admired how Sylvain had stayed true to himself much as the world wanted him to change. Almost like a challenge of growth itself.

Dimitri, ashamed to admit it, had changed only when the Kingdom army had needed him to. Had changed from a monster when he gave in to those voices and people and ghosts telling him he was one of _them_.

Sylvain had said as much. Sylvain had seen through him.

 _Good work, Dimitri. You've really become yourself_.

But Sylvain had also called himself a monster. And Dimitri wanted, needed to know why.

He did not seek Sylvain out.

Kings acted when they needed to. Kings acted for their people. 

Dimitri could not follow his desires when the King must respect his people's.

* * *

Why was Dimitri avoiding him?

Sylvain knew he hadn't been the most...pleasant sort, not since Dimitri had ascended the throne. Whatever friendship they'd had in the war was one of duty, and it had ended the moment Sylvain didn't need to feign forgiveness.

Whatever friendship they'd had as children…

Well.

They'd been _children_.

This Dimitri, this Sylvain were different people. And they didn't know things like _friendship_ , not anymore. Not really.

"He's pestering me, now," Felix complained without preamble, falling into step beside him on their way to their guest rooms. Sylvain tried not to jump. If Sylvain walked into a room with the intention of drawing all eyes, Felix just...materialized. Whether anyone wanted him to or not.

"Hey there, Felix."

"He won't shut up," Felix ignored him. "Boar's too thick-headed. I keep telling him if he wants to know your opinion, we have hours' worth of meetings every damned day with you falling asleep right in front of him—"

Sylvain stumbled, tried to right himself without help, because of course Felix didn't even slow. "Maybe he should make them more interesting," he suggested. Felix offered him a disgusted scoff.

"Ruling territories is dull. I of all people know that. You will, too." Felix cast an unsympathetic glance over his shoulder. "Keep up. I'll eat without you if you're slow."

While the temptation of sharing a rare meal with Felix did entice him, the conversation topic did not. "Nah, you go on ahead," Sylvain smiled. Another annoyed scoff.

"That's not what I—come eat with me. I'm not letting you go before you promise to get him off my _back_."

Felix's expertise lay in verbal abuse, yes. But Sylvain had no doubt Felix would give chase and a punch or two if he excused himself and ran.

"Fine."

The rest of the walk was silent. Awkward, or at least for Sylvain. But the Fraldarius rooms were not too far by this point, and they didn't need to suffer long before a far-too-spicy meal was set before them by punctual servants.

"Seriously?" Sylvain gestured to the berry-red sauce that was not made of berries. He had learned this the hard way one too many times.

"Eat it or don't. It's Fhirdiad's tax money, not yours."

Sylvain ate. If tears streamed from his eyes and he choked on his words more often than not, well, at least this unpleasant conversation would excuse them.

"So. Did you fight?"

Felix shoveled more stew into his mouth while Sylvain did indeed choke. 

"No, we didn't." The words tingled on his tongue. Like spice. Like lies.

"Maybe tell _him_ that." Felix thrust a glass of milk at him. How thoughtful of him to ask for it; all Felix had was wine. Or maybe a servant, tired of throwing away Sylvain's unfinished curry when he could stand no more. "You're behaving like schoolboys."

"I'm sure it's fine," Sylvain gasped through another swallow of milk and mouthful of pain.

"Maybe for you it is." Felix had polished off his dinner and now glared at Sylvain over his empty dish. "But you've made _your_...relationship _my_ problem. Deal with it, or I'll lock you both in the war room the next time either of you irritate me."

"Now who's being a schoolboy?" Sylvain tried to sneer, but coughed through half the sentence.

Felix grabbed Sylvain's dish from straight underneath him and devoured it without another word besides "Weakling."

Right. This was why he and Felix didn't eat together often.

* * *

"Sylvain." Dimitri's heart leapt into his throat when he caught sight of the shadow in his office, just in view of his good eye. "An unexpected pleasure. Please—"

Sylvain ignored his half-formed insistence they sit. He strolled to the window, looking out on the frosty courtyard. "So. Felix thinks we're fighting."

Dimitri's mouth went dry. Sylvain's voice was that casual, terrible, dismissive lilt Dimitri had heard him give new ex-lovers too many times. "Well."

Sylvain stretched dramatically, and Goddess, but he was still beautiful, and Dimitri was sure every ex-lover _knew_ it even as they listened to him cut them out of his life. But he twisted around, every muscle under his Gautier Crest-embossed tunic rippling, raised a brow, and said, "Well. Are we?"

"I…" Dimitri didn't know.

Sylvain's smirk hurt. He turned back to the window. "I don't know, either."

No one dared turn their back to the King. 

But no one dared turn their back on a monster, either.

Dimitri joined him, bootsteps noisy and heavy on the carpet. Heat radiated from Sylvain's body, deceptively relaxed. Odd, for someone who'd complained their entire march to and through Ailell.

Dimitri still remembered it. Even through that fog of fury-filled memories. Through the terrified rage of a freed beast.

"You do, do you?" 

Dimitri startled, and Sylvain's lips were quirked in more grin than smirk now. "What?"

"Was that supposed to be an inside thought, Your Majesty?" Before he could voice an apology, Sylvain cackled and clapped a hand on Dimitri's shoulder. He froze. "Nah, I get it. I was really annoying, I know."

Dimitri dared a chuckle, but the good humor had already faded from Sylvain's features.

"You really were uncaged," Sylvain said quietly.

His hand had not moved—no, that was a lie. It had descended, now braced itself on Dimitri's bicep. But no further.

"Forgive me," Dimitri said. Sylvain's jaw tensed, but Dimitri hurried to add, "I...don't recall what I just said. I wasn't…"

"Aware, yeah," Sylvain sighed. He patted Dimitri's bicep a couple thoughtless times and retreated. His arm _burned_. "It's easier to remember the bad stuff, huh? The...fury."

If the ghost of Sylvain's touch had seared his skin, his smile cooled Dimitri's guilt. "You also said it was odd, how you barely remembered anything past that _fury_ except for me driving you fucking crazy that day."

"Ha. Yes." Dimitri's smile might as well have brought new, fresh air in his lungs. Teasing. Familiar jokes. Things from a lost childhood.

Sylvain slung his arm around Dimitri's shoulders, squeezing him now, like brothers, like friends, like peers, like—"Good to know I'm so annoying, I manage to break through to a monster like you, huh? And not have him kill me anyway."

Dimitri carefully extracted himself from Sylvain's now-too-tight grip. "Is...this why we're fighting?" he asked cautiously.

"Hm?" Nothing changed in Sylvain's expression. "I thought you didn't know if we were."

Passive. A passive response. 

"Sylvain." Dimitri could usually send even his closest advisors shrinking from him if he glared at them behind his bangs, behind a patch covering an empty socket. Sylvain, for all his unwanted and wanted advice, was not his advisor. And he didn't flinch. "You know I'm not one for emotions."

"Neither am I—"

"No, you know what I— _reading_ them."

Sylvain smirked. Didn't give another answer. Probably because he _knew_ Dimitri couldn't guess.

"You aren't upset with me as your King," Dimitri ventured. "You said—"

 _Smart work, Your Majesty_.

"Mhm. It was."

Hope made Dimitri's speech heavier than he meant. "Then...you're upset with me as...as your friend. As—"

 _Dimitri. You've really come into your own_.

"As Dimitri." Sylvain's unhappy smile had frozen on his face. As chilled, unsurprising, and constant as the frost on the grass below the castle. "Yeah, maybe."

* * *

Sylvain hadn't known, understood, _known_ until Dimitri said it. Couldn't put the words to it, not even the name: Dimitri, Your Majesty, _beast_.

 _You broke through my terror. The rage of an uncaged beast_.

Felix had mourned Dimitri longer than Sylvain or even Ingrid had. He'd pursued rumors like a manic hunter, giving up only when the roads and hills grew too dangerous.

And when that blood-spattered creature had shoved them aside...in a way, Sylvain thought Felix found closure. That _creature_ wasn't Dimitri, the one they'd all loved. Felix now had proof of something he was scared he'd imagined.

But Sylvain had just mourned. Because he'd had no reason to look for proof in the first place.

 _Sylvain_ was supposed to be the demon. The tempting, vile, pretty monster anyone could throw anything at and never make it past. The one who'd take all the evil the world had to offer and bring it _within_ , ensure no one suffered it, deserved it but him.

No one he loved.

No one he—

"I never wanted that to happen to you."

Dimitri was silent. Stared into the thick window like it could reflect better memories from their warped images in the stained glass.

"I don't…" Sylvain swallowed, and it was the loudest sound in the world. "I can't...I don't know if I'll ever be able to—"

"Sylvain," Dimitri cut him off. Sylvain shut up, even though that voice was not the voice of a King. "I'm not asking for forgiveness."

Sylvain said nothing to the lie. It wasn't like he could provide it anyway.

"Do you remember," Dimitri said haltingly, "after? After the Tragedy."

"Mhm."

How tightly he'd held that shaking boy in his arms. How he knew it could never happen again, Sylvain'd _sworn_ —

"I swore an oath to you."

Sylvain jolted. "No, you didn't."

Dimitri's laugh was pitiful. "I did. No...I should have expected you wouldn't remember." He shook his head, like Sylvain's faulty memory was humorous. "I swore I would make those responsible pay."

"Well, I certainly remember _that_ ," Sylvain tried to laugh back. Dimitri flinched, though, and he felt awful for no discernible reason.

"I made a second oath. To you."

This Sylvain did not remember.

Dimitri fixed him with a paralyzing expression. His single eye glowed with—with something not quite fury, but something just as impassioned. "I swore I would never let anyone take you from—take you the way my family, my friends, were from me. I'd never let it happen again."

Sylvain bit on his lip until it bled. So much for smiling. "I appreciated it, I'm sure."

Dimitri shook his head. "No. You didn't let me. I never was able to tell you in my own words until now. And...I broke that oath because of it. I'm ashamed of myself. But I can't put a broken promise back together again."

 _What_?

Sylvain made a great show of inspecting his hands, fingers, running them along his chest—T _he King, Dimitri was watching him_ —and shrugged. "Still seem pretty whole to me. Your Majesty," he hastily added, a belated apology for correcting his liege.

"I don't believe you. That is," Dimitri corrected himself, just as hastily, "I don't believe you find yourself...you. But I digress."

Good, because Sylvain felt like the Crest of Blaiddyd had knocked the air out of him.

His skin itched. He wanted to crawl out of it. Dimitri was looking at him, yes, watching him, but _seeing_ him, and Sylvain wasn't sure how he felt about it—

"I did let someone take you out of my life." Dimitri held up his shaking, gloved hands to the golden setting sun streaming through the window. "I told myself I was a monster, that if you would not stand by me, then that was because of you. Because you knew a monster deserved no less." He glanced at Sylvain askance, and the intensity in his gaze sent heat rushing to Sylvain's own face.

Sylvain wasn't sure how he _felt_.

"But it was because of _me_. I took you out of my life as surely as if I'd carved you out of it myself. With my actions, with my own two hands." Those shaking hands squeezed into tight fists. "I—"

Sylvain knocked Dimitri's hands out of the air. "I thought we agreed self-pity doesn't look good on you, Your H—Majesty."

Dimitri's eye widened. Blue and beautiful as spilled ink. "Sylvain…"

Sylvain held Dimitri's hands tightly in his own, hard enough that, had Dimitri been anyone else, it probably would have hurt. Sylvain didn't care, and felt less guilty for it. "There are things you've done...ways you've killed people that I'll never forget. And I won't apologize for that, you know? It won't bring those lives back, and _definitely_ not the corpses I've made."

Apologies, after all, didn't mend the hearts he'd broken, either. Why would more meaningless words fix entire bodies?

Sylvain brought their clasped hands to his chest. They were so close now. Close enough to kiss. To bite. To hold. "But don't tell me _my_ decisions were out of my control, too. If I'm going to remember the things you did when you were a Dimitri I didn't know...then you better remember the things I did when I was _me_. When you knew me already."

 _When you knew me better than most, and I never knew until you came back_.

"Take responsibility, Your Majesty," Sylvain smirked, but it was more twitch of his lips than a real sardonic smile. "But only for yourself. Me, I've got my own atonement to make."

Dimitri's eyelashes were longer than Sylvain remembered. Because the last time they'd been this close, Dimitri had been trembling and crying and promising in his arms, and tears had obscured any details of his too-young face.

"So," Dimitri's laugh was just as forced and proper as it always had been since he was seven, twelve, thirteen, seventeen. "Am I to understand we're forbidden from apologies?"

"Actions speak louder," Sylvain agreed. He hated the readiness with which he replied. He scrambled for something, anything familiar.

And familiar was bringing Dimitri close again. "I'm a man of action, after all."

 _Too much_.

Dimitri sucked in a gasp, and Sylvain loosened his grip instantly.

_Familiar. Teasing._

_Weakling._

"I'm s—" Sylvain began.

Dimitri yanked him back, hand in hand, chest to chest once more. "We forbade them," he reminded Sylvain. The growl in Dimitri's voice stirred something dark, relieved, and powerful in Sylvain's mind. A heat coiling in his stomach.

"Well, from one monster to another," Sylvain's laugh was quiet, "I'd like to take responsibility for what I'm going to do."

Dimitri rested his forehead on Sylvain's and breathed deeply. The action was so...intimate, so _Dimitri_ even in so charged a moment, that Sylvain shuddered. "What is that?" Dimitri murmured. No hint of playfulness, just that same earnestness buried deep down, or maybe rising back. 

Dimitri hadn't really changed, either. Much as the world had wanted him to.

And, because Sylvain didn't know how to change anymore, even if _he_ wanted to...

"I'm going to kiss you," Sylvain said softly. He tilted his head, Dimitri mirroring the movement. Their breath mingled, hot on Sylvain's lips. "Promise that's okay. And that's the last oath I'll ever want you to make me."

"No."

Sylvain stiffened. But Dimitri remained relaxed. He tucked a stray hair out of Sylvain's face, and the intensity in his gaze had softened into something dangerously close to affection. To—"I promise it would be perfect."

"Oh, come _on_ —" Sylvain crashed his mouth onto Dimitri's, hard and messy and frustrated just to prove a point. He swallowed Dimitri's too-pleased laugh, licked an unexpected moan out of his lips, and pulled away before Dimitri could chase his tongue. 

Eager. Earnest. Open.

"You wasted your last oath," Sylvain said, surprised by how breathless his own voice was. 

Dimitri slid his arms around Sylvain's back, and Sylvain used the force to bring Dimitri closer again. "Then I'll prove my worth to you on my own merits," he said, solemnly as only Dimitri knew how.

Sylvain sealed his own laugh into Dimitri's mouth. "Then I guess I'll hold you to nothing," he said against Dimitri's lips. He was sure Dimitri could _taste_ his smile when he added, "No promises, though."

Something heavy and scared clogging the spaces between them dissipated as their mouths, hands, touches, hearts, bodies came together. 

Sylvain didn't need to know what it had been. Dimitri didn't, either.

The past was gone, the future uncertain, and all either of them could do was ensure their small peaces in the moments between.


End file.
